Same Game, Different Stories
by yoted12
Summary: Explore the stories of two men, Jaime Lannister and his son, Eddard Lannister, as they live out the perils of the Game of Thrones.
1. Eddard I

Eddard didn't know where he was. All around him was chaos. Men were dying, killed by dead men. He saw a massive direwolf obliterate the undead as it rampaged, but the men weren't so successful.

Men were dying left and right, being burned as it happened, but not quick enough, they rose up and attacked their comrades again.

King Robert was there, standing side by side with the Blackfish as they faced off against an Other. A circle was cleared around them, the undead seemed to let the Others do their own thing.

"Hold the DAMNED LINE" roared his father, Lord Jaime Lannister, the Lion of the West, as he tried desperately to keep his men in order. If they broke then it was all lost, all for nothing. And then disaster struck.

The Night King himself had appeared. He walked almost serenely through the ranks of his undead horde as they parted ways for him... heading straight to father.

The Night King was getting closer. Wasn't someone going to stop him? They had defeated him. They had killed him. Hadn't they? Jaime locked eyes with the Night King and the color drained from his face. Eddard could see him take a deep breath, the fighting around him and the leader of the Others had stopped as the undead were driven by his will and the living by some need to watch whatever was going to happen. He brought up Brightroar, the ancestral sword of his house recently brought back, and stood his ground, an unyielding wall.

The Night King then spoke, in a voice that cut through the air like a knife and made the living cover their ears. But father was undeterred, even as Eddard could practically feel Jaime's heart pounding.

"You wield the Lion sword." He looked at him disdainfully "Your ancestor held it better than you."

Jaime said nothing.

He knew his father was one of, if not the best fighters in Westeros, he had seen him fight... but nothing he had ever seen prepared him for what he was about to witness. With Brightroar, Jaime was unstoppable, sword and man were one.

The Night King slowly lifted his own, crystal sword.

"Perish."

They clashed in a flurry of strikes. This wasn't a fight. This was a dance, the most beautiful, complex, disgusting and brutal dance the world had ever witnessed. And Jaime was losing.

Perhaps if he hadn't spent the past three days fighting the undead. Perhaps if he had slept more than an hour in the past month. Even then, it was a big perhaps. But it did not matter.

The Night King, after five solid minutes of bitter, beautiful ringing and clashing of steel on crystal, Jaime was blown backwards by a devastating blow as he desperately held Brightroar above him to block it. He fell to the ground ten feet from where he was struck down, Brightroar had fallen out of his grasp.

The Night King slowly advanced. The men were beginning to flee. If he could defeat Jaime Lannister, how could they hope to stand against him? Jaime reached desperately for his sword and slowly crawled to it. The Night King raised his sword.

"Die."

Eddard tried to scream. Tried to yell anything.

But he wasn't the one who had any effect on it.

Lord Eddard Stark, his namesake, barely caught the Night King's sword with his massive greatsword before it hit father. Two of the Others, probably the most senior of them, and the only ones to be seen, advanced to join the Night King. The Night King was, seemingly, shocked, as he recoiled and seemed to hiss.

"Ice."

Jaime rose, Brightroar in his grasp, exhausted, but standing. Behind them, the Blackfish, King Robert, Robb Stark, a man with black hair and roguish features he didn't know, and Ser Garlan Tyrell advanced to join them.

Lord Stark muttered, "They were seven against three."

He spoke louder. "Now it ends."

—

21 years later

Eddard Lannister woke with a start, icy sweat drenching him. Who let the fires die out? No matter. He had to do something to get the Night King's voice out of his head. He rose from bed slowly, wearily, and relit the fire. Soon enough, it was roaring again. _Just as it should be. _From here, his bedchambers at the outer edge of the Rock by the sea, it could get cold terribly fast. He should sleep in Lannisport more often, he'd have to go there everyday anyways for the Council meetings. No matter.

For now, the sun was beginning to rise, he thought at least. He got dressed as quickly as he could, a black and gold leather coat, with a red and cloth-of-gold sash draped over his left shoulder. He had to look halfway decent today. Supposedly, the King had sent an Envoy to the Rock some few days ago, and was expected to arrive today. Why he couldn't have just sent a raven? Who knew. But it didn't matter, the King was a good lad, and it was probably actually from Lord Seaworth, the Lord Regent and Hand of the King, anyways.

He walked down the stairs of the Rock, of which there were many, until he finally reached the courtyard and the Great Hall. He broke his fast with his family before he left.

"Ah, good morning Ned, love. Pass the butter would you?"

He did so. "Good morning mother. Uncle Tyrion, it's been some time since we've had an update on the progress of the city, any news?"

"What?" The Imp looked up from his apparently disappointing bowl of porridge. "Oh, yes, straight to business. The foundations for the new walls have been finished and the roads are complete, now we just need buildings and people. And wine, Sansa, would you kindly?" Mother complied with a roll of her eyes.

It was then that his twin brother, Damon, and their great uncle Kevan arrived, arguing about how effective Braavosi swords were.

"I'm telling you Kev, you'd take one swing and they'd snap in two, three, a dozen pieces."

'Kev' smacked him on the back of the head. "It's Kevan, or Uncle. And you don't swing the damn things, you stab. Stab." They reached the table and he grabbed a knife. "Like th-"

Mother interrupted, "No! Uncle Kevan please!"

"I wasn't going to stab the boy, just demonstrate." He demonstrated.

"Two and eighty and I swear you get younger every day, Uncle" said Tyrion, still looking sadly at his porridge.

"Morning Ned." said Damon, "you sleep?"

"Not much. Working terribly busily you see."

"Naturally"

"Of course"

"To be sure"

...

"Nightmare?"

_ Seven hells. _

His face must have given something away in his reaction because he suddenly grinned triumphantly.

He slid a copper his way,

It didn't mean anything, the copper that is, they were Lannisters after all. But they'd begun it when they were twelve, six years previous. If one of them could "read" something "like that" off of the other one, they got a copper. The terms of the arrangement were vague.

"How goes the Bank, Uncle Kevan?"

"We're still rich boy, does it matter?"

He had a point. But he gave him a look anyway as he ate his porridge.

"It's never been better. With the Iron Bank becoming official partners, we have a lot more pull in the Free Cities and free reign in all of Westeros. Lord Arryn just took out the biggest loan we've ever given outside of the Throne."

"Excellent."

The Bank of Lannisport. Sometimes derogatorily called the Western Iron Bank, was the brainchild of Kevan, Tyrion and Ned himself. Once the new mines opened ten years prior, they were effectively limitless in funding and they'd capitalized on that massively. Lannisport was expanding rapidly, which was only a good thing. After years of negotiations, they'd earned the officially backing of the Iron Bank, and Braavos agreed to effectively stay out of Westeros, besides the Throne itself, which was fair game for both of them.

As they finished breakfast with various talk of other things, Ned began to grow drowsy. But there was time for sleep later, he had a meeting with the most powerful people in the Westerlands. The Council of the West.


	2. Jaime I

**Jaime**

Jaime Lannister was livid. No, that was too nice of a word. Jaime Lannister was absolutely piss-fucked mad. What does that mean? He didn't know and didn't care.

"Ser Jaime, plea-"

"Your Grace." He said through gritted teeth by way of parting as he tore off his white cloak and threw it to the ground.

He tore his way through the Red Keep until he reached the sweet solitude of his chambers. At least, he thought. He found his sister there.

"Not now, Cersei."

"Jaime, father only did what he thought was best for the family, and I agree with him. We can't let Tyrion hold the Rock."

He lost it.

"And why in the Seven hells not? He'd make a better lord than I ever will and at least as good a one as father. Can't you both understand that I don't want the damned hunk of stone?"

Cersei looked like she had been slapped.

"After everything we-"

"Did you do this?"

"You have to understa-"

"Get out."

"Ja-"

"GET OUT" he roared as he finally let loose and half dragged and half threw her out his door before slamming it shut.

Gods damn him. Gods damn her. Gods damn everything. He never wanted to break another oath. Even if he knew it was the right thing, the only thing, to do at the time, he couldn't stand the way they spoke about him.

He quickly changed out of his Kingsguard armor and into a deep -red and gold cloak and black mail with a red chest piece.

He took all the money he had in his room, which was quite a lot, thanks to his father, and shoved it into a bag, before rushing outside. Willem and Martyn, his squires and cousins, were waiting, he almost barreled over them

"I'm going to the Free Cities." He paused a half a second. "Tyrosh, " he decided, "come with me or don't. I don't really care."

They looked at each other as he stormed down the hall and, without a word, followed him.

—

He had his own men already. Loyal to him. There weren't many, only thirteen in fact. But they'd follow him if he asked. And ask he did.

He withdrew a certain sum of money from his account in King's Landing before heading out of the King's Gate. Once they were sure they hadn't been trailed by his father's men, they turned around and met the boat he'd hired to take them to Essos.

He'd just had enough of doing what others told him.

He offered his cousins another chance to go back before they boarded but they insisted. Gods, they were only ten. Of course, if it goes well and they have a great adventure, when he comes back, if he comes back, Uncle Kevan will shower him with praise for covering his sons in glory. But if one of them gets hurt... Jaime would have a hard time forgiving himself.

But that was future Jaime's problem. For now, they went to Tyrosh...

—-

He still couldn't quite believe the nerve of his father for asking. And the lack of nerve of the King for accepting. To be dismissed from the Kingsguard in such a manner... it was more than humiliating. Hopefully, in Essos, he could forget about those things. Forget about Father. Forget about His Fatness. Forget about... Cersei. Forget about her. All of them. Maybe he would write to Tyrion though.

He aroused himself from his thoughts and left his small quarters on this ship, the Begger's Tail. They should be closing in on Tyrosh now. Traveling anywhere was madness. The boys, Martyn and Willem though, they'd made it... interesting. They reminded him of younger versions of himself. If he had a twin. Er, twin brother, that is. They liked to spar with each other, and Jaime, who'd been teaching them the basics of the sword already but not going in-depth yet, realized they were both naturals.

They knew each other too well for their sparring to teach much though, so they often sparred with him, which didn't end well for them.

Regardless, they were growing better and better by the day, and that was good, they would need it for what Jaime had planned.

It was quite a simple plan, truth be told. Sail into Tyrosh, who had only just recently gone into full-scale war with both Myr and Lys, as the other two had done the same with each other, in their endless fight for the disputed lands, and offer his services to the Archon. He was one of the greatest swords in the world, if not the greatest, and probably a better General than anyone the Archon had in his service.

From there? That was future Jaime's problem.

They docked later than Jaime would have liked, but no matter, he'd go straight to the Archon's Palace, the Bleeding Tower. He ordered his men to follow him quietly, it wouldn't do to go stomping around in the streets and angering half a million blue-haired merchants.

The Bleeding Tower was a sight to see. It was tall. Not near so tall as the Rock, or even the High Tower, but quite tall nonetheless, and that wasn't the only part of the fortress either way, it sprawled out on the lower levels for, by Jaime's best estimation, a mile at least on either side.

He approached the guard and, trying his best to remember his Valyrian, spoke to him.

"I am Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. I have come to offer my services to the Archon."

The guard looked blankly at him and his guards before lifting his helmet and laughing at him.

"You wish to buy a goat?" He said, heavily accented, in the common tongue of Westeros.

Jaime sighed. Naturally.

"Ah. No, apologies it has been some time since I learned. Obviously I did not pay attention. I am Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. I have come to offer my services to the Archon."

The guard looked him up and down before nodding.

"Your men?"

"Yes, then too. These boys are my squires, and these thirteen my… army, as it were."

"Very well. They can go through the outer gate but they'll have to stay outside the Tower itself. You may go in, tell the man at the inner door that Daario said it was okay."

"My thanks, Daario."

He gestured to his men, who followed him through the gate and into the courtyard into the fabulous gardens of the Archon. It was nearing sunset, which only added to the area's beauty.

He went ahead to the inner gate, relaying the man's words as his men milled about. The man at the gate opened it with a slight grunt.

Here goes nothing


	3. Eddard II

_Note: This chapter was extremely fun to write, but I don't know how fun it will be to read. Let me know if it is, but I don't regret it because I spent a long time World-building up this particular *thing* and it was really fun to do._

Eddard

He strode confidently into the new building that housed the Council of the West, the brainchild of himself, Damon, Uncle Tyrion and Great uncle Kevan. In Lannisport, naturally, the building was wide, flat and stone with only four stories but with intricate balconies carved out and it took up nearly the entirely of the area of what was formerly Lann's Hall, the castle, or rather the lair, of the Lannisters of Lannisport before they died out.

The Council housed all of the Lords of the West (or more commonly their appointed representatives) and served as something between an advisory council, court, and legislature for the Westerlands all wrapped into one. Most of the space in the actual building was taken up by the massive rectangular room that housed the Councillors themselves.

Most of the Council was already assembled, which was good, normally most didn't show up until a good hour or two into the session. At the far end of the hall sat three of the most powerful men in the world, and here the fourth came to complete the quartet.

In the centermost seats, facing out towards the other lords, was the intricate mahogany chair reserved for himself, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, with lion heads carved at the ends of the armrests and a slightly higher, more decorative backrest than the others in the room.

Directly to the left of him was an identical chair but one that was a slightly smaller scale, reserved for his younger brother (by only a few minutes but nonetheless) Ser Damon Lannister, the Shield of Lannisport.

On his right in a yet again identical chair to the one he sat in, but on a much smaller scale was reserved for Tyrion Lannister, the Castellan of the Rock.

And to Damon's left sat their ancient Great uncle, Lord Kevan Lannister of Castamere, and Lord Treasurer of the West.

Before them sat the many dozens of lords of the West, and not only lords, representatives of towns over a certain size were given the privilege of sending their own as well. Usually the matters were only decided by the quadrumvirate that sat on the raised dais before them, but in very rare instances, usually if they didn't want to take any blame, they called a roll call vote.

"My Lords, Ladies and Representative Goodmen, Eddard of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West!" the crier announced as he took his seat. Eddard nodded at the men seated next to him before motioning to begin.

Damon rose and cleared his throat as the crier called his name. Eddard didn't envy that crier, after the beginning the session officially began he had to just stand there and look official for several hours.

"Ser Damon of House Lannister, brother to Lord Paramount Eddard of the Westerlands and Shield of Lannisport!"

"This meeting of the Council of the West is officially in session. Scribes, please begin your taking of notes. Who here of Lordly status has come to petition the Council for redress or advice?"

For a moment, no one rose, as the lesser lords waited to see if the higher ones had grievances first. That was the way things went, generally. Though technically any lord could have risen immediately it was established as good etiquette.

Then a young man, probably the same age as Ned and Damon, in the second row of benches stood and called, "I, Ser Franklyn of House Swyft, on behalf of Lord Steffon Swyft of Cornfield do ask permission to seek redress on his behalf."

They very rarely denied someone the request to speak out their case, in fact they hadn't yet in the four years they'd been doing this. Simply so they wouldn't be confused if one accepted and another said no, it was decided the eldest member, in this case Ser Kevan by a long way, would decide if the case could be presented.

Kevan cleared his throat, "Permission granted, Ser Franklyn. If you'll excuse me, my Lords."

Kevan rose from his seat with a slight groan and walked with his cane to the seat off to the side of the dais. They tried to make the process as fair as possible, so if a conflict of interest was at hand with one of them; they'd recuse themselves. Kevan's departed wife was a Swyft by birth. It was probably a process that would be used more often in the future when others took their places on the dais, since they of course were all Lannisters. They hadn't yet decided how to replace them but that, at the moment, wasn't important..

"My Lords, Ser, as you know, at the end of the Great War," the war with the Others, he put his right hand over his heart and pointed his left hand to the heavens, to remember the dead, as did most of the people in the room, "my Father was restored to full Lordly status as the Swyfts had been a century previous. In those days, House Jast of Lonmont were sworn to us, when we lost Lordly status, they naturally, no longer were. Lord Jaime Jast of Lonmont does not recognize my father as his liege lord though, even after all these years. Until recently, my father had no problem with this, he is not a greedy man, but now, Lord Jast is claiming portions of our land that have always belonged to us. I have spoken with Ser Jeremy Jast, Lord Jast's son and Representative, and he does not believe that his father will accept anything less than the transfer of the Valley Harman, a large fertile plot of land that House Swyft has owned for hundreds of years. So we would put this matter before the dais and the Council to be resolved."

Damon spoke.

"It shall be resolved, Ser Franklyn. And your father still does not desire the fealty of House Jast?"

"No Ser Damon, only the recognition of his lands."

"Ser Jeremy, do you have any words in your father's defense?"

A young man directly next to Ser Franklyn stood.

"Ser, my Lords. In my father's defense?" He leaned to Swyft and lowered his voice, not quite successfully, to say, "speaking as myself, no." Ser Franklyn snorted.

He straightened his back.

"Speaking as his Representative to the Council, I must request that House Jast receive the territory that it claims or recompense thereof."

Ned spoke, choosing to pretend not to hear Jast's previous comment.

"Maester Jon, you are a Greenfield by birth yes? Neighbors to both these claimants. Is there any record, to your knowledge, of any claim to the Valley Harman by House Jast before Lord Jaime's claim this year?"

Maester Jon, an elderly, balding man, had also written a treatise on the history of the Westerlands some years ago, it did not go too in depth about claims but he knew he researched it tirelessly.

The Maester thought for a moment,

He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted rather abruptly.

"Let me IN, FILTH! I am a representative of the KING!"

A plump, red faced man with cropped, jet black hair and ornate gold and black armor stormed into the room as he pushed their poor doorman, Hunchback Tom, to the floor.

Two hundred Lords of the West turned around to face him and Eddard and Damon both stood up.

Tyrion began to laugh uncontrollably before Kevan shot him a look and he stifled it.

The man walked down the lengthy aisle towards them and bowed, a sword at his side. A sword! And a hand outstretched holding a letter... to Damon.

"My Lord of Lannister."

Damon almost laughed but managed to restrain himself to merely raising an eyebrow.

"I appreciate it Ser but it's my brother you want, I am Ser Damon Lannister, this," he gestured to Eddard, "is Lord Eddard Lannister,"

The man, now sweating and damn near purple in the face, shifted so he was in front of Ned and repeated himself. Ned took it.

"I take it this is ah, from the King?" He said as he handed the letter to Tyrion. Kevan returned to his seat.

"Yes my Lord, he re-"

"Oh wait just one moment Ser...?"

"Ser Dickon Hunter" he replied.

Tyrion lost it and recused himself from the chambers as he began opening the letter, laughing.

"Quite." He put on his formal, Lordly voice. "Ser Franklyn, Ser Jeremy, have you any objections to a ten minute holding on your matter while the Royal envoy is... met?"

"None at all, my lord," said Ser Franklyn and Ser Jeremy nodded.

"Maester Jon, please, consult your book for clarification, if need be,"

The old man smiled.

"Come Ser Dickon, my brother, myself, Lord Kevan and the Imp shall hear your words."

Dickon, thoroughly embarrassed and still quite irritated and nodded. "My lord."

Hunchback Tom had come to the front of the hall, bleeding from his left arm, and gave Dickon a pointed glare.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, Ser Dickon, weapons are not allowed in the Council chambers. If you would," Ned held out his hands,"we cannot have any filth wandering in here to murder everyone."

Dickon briefly looked as if he might stab Ned, before quickly taking his sword and handing it over.

"Tom, go see Maester Jon about your arm. It doesn't look too bad but I want it bandaged at least."

"Shouldn't I take his sword out, my lord?"

"I'll see to it, now go."

"My lord." He went.

Ned looked around for the nearest person, pretty much everyone had begun milling about after the disruption, waiting to get back to business, helping themselves to the refreshments arrayed along the walls or socializing.

"Ah, Ser Victor, my apologies but Hunchback Tom is indisposed, would you be so kind as to bring Ser Dickson's sword outside the chambers?"

"Of course my lord, of course! Quite an entrance you made good ser. Good day." Ser Victor Vikary was a good man.

They went on their way.

They arrived over by the seat that Kevan had settled in earlier, Damon sat with him.

Tyrion had returned by then, having read the letter.

"Now then Ser Dickon, what does King Jon require?"

"A Hand, my Lord."

What?

"Well, as flattered as I am to be considered as Lord Seaworth's replacement, I have far too many duties here Ser. I do not want it."

"Ned, he also names you Lord Regent." said Tyrion

"Lord What?"

"Lord Regent, Protector of the Realm, etc. Everything that Davos held."

"By the Gods... I'm only a few years older than he is!"

"His Grace is eleven, you are a man grown, and have proven yourself an able ruler. Lord Seaworth himself asked for you. This letter was written by him shortly before he died,"

"Well who wi-"

"We will rule in your stead, us three can manage."

"Oh no, I'll have to have at least one of you with me... It will have to be Damon. He's Captain of the Household Guard anyways."

Kevan nodded in agreement. "Aye, Tyrion and I can hold the place together while you're off, and we'll have to have a system to put your replacements on the dais."

Tyrion thought a moment.

"Well we could just choose them ourselves. Willem and Daven? Or we could let the Council choose. That would set quite a precedent."

Damon spoke, "We should deal with the specifics after the session, or at least at the end. We'll have to leave by the end of the week."

Ned shook his head. "We leave tonight, just a few hundred, send Tom up to the Rock, when he's patched up, with orders to get ready to go quickly."

He paused a second. This was happening too fast.

"Uncle, why me? What does the letter say?"

Tyrion handed him the letter.

Lord Eddard,

I am dying. I'm loathe to say it but Twelve years as Hand of the King, eight of which were also as Regent do not do wonders for a man's health. I know we do not know each other as well as we would both like, but in our limited interactions, you have struck me as diligent, honorable, and capable. And so, after my passing I have asked King Jon to name you my successor to my courtly positions and he excitedly agreed. King Jon, though only little, remembers your words to him six years ago, and all your interactions since, you're the man he needs at his side to teach him to rule. Keep him safe, keep the Kingdoms safe, and keep yourself safe.

-Lord Davos Seaworth,

Lord of the Rainwood, Hand of the King, Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm

and then, in a somewhat more handwriting below it,

-King Jon

It wasn't a very long letter, and the words weren't very clear. But the meaning was, and he couldn't very well deny them.

"Ser Dickon, would you care to sit and watch the Council play out? I'm told it can be very interesting. I'm also told it can be very boring. Your choice." invited Kevan, patting the seat next to him.

Ser Dickon thought for a moment before taking a seat.

Ned walked back to the dais and waited for everyone to take their seats.

"My Lords, Ladies and Goodmen, my thanks for your patience, let us return to the matter at hand, that of the dispute of the Valley Harman between Houses Swyft and Jast. Maester Jon, your findings?"

The elderly Maester rose slowly before clearing his throat and speaking as loudly as he could, which wasn't very,

"Seven hundred and thirty six years ago, in the reign of Lancel of House Lannister, Third of His Name, King of the Rock, when House Jast were still sworn to House Swyft, Lord Lyle of Lonmont rebelled against his liege, Lord Gwayne of Cornfield. Upon being defeated, Lord Lyle ceded control of the Valley Harman directly to House Swyft as punishment. In doing so, he signed a treatise promising on behalf of his heirs never again to take up arms against House Swyft and forever forsaking claim to the Valley Harman. An original copy of this treaty was discovered by Maester Marn in his excavation of the ruins of Gadhill, where the treaty was signed, some fifty years ago."

"Ser Franklyn, is House Swyft satisfied with the facts as provided?"

Ser Franklyn rose from his seat. "It is, my lord"

"Ser Jaremy, is House Jast satisfied with the facts as provided?"

Ser Jaremy also rose, "It is, my lord"

"In that case..."

He turned first to Tyrion, who nodded, and then to Damon, who did the same.

"The dais is unanimous. House Swyft is in the right, in exchange for remaining sworn directly to the Rock and not to Cornfield, Lord Jast must relinquish his claim on the Valley Harman."

Kevan returned to his place on the dais, and the day went on.

At the end of the day, after hearing around two dozen more petitions, most of which were sadly far more complicated and less civil than the first, as they were all growing weary and restless, Eddard decided it was time.

He rose. "I, Lord Eddard of House Lannister do ask permission to address the Council."

Kevan nodded, "Permission granted, Lord Eddard."

"My Lords, Ladies and Goodmen. As you may know, the Hand of the King and Lord Regent, Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood, passed away this past week. May the Seven bless his soul. The reason that our good friend Ser Dickon," he looked at the knight to his left, who had fallen asleep in his chair a few minutes prior, "interrupted our session this morning was because I have been invited by the King, with the late lord's recommendation, to take up his position as Hand of the King, and further as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm." There were some murmurs through the room, naturally. "I know, I know. As Lord of the West and Prime Councillor of this fine Council, I wish to serve the West, well, in the West. But when the Realm calls, you answer. That being said, as the Captain of my Household Guard, my brother, Ser Damon, will be joining me in the capitol, so not only will one spot on the dais need to be filled, but two. The decision of how they are chosen, I leave to my fellow dais members, as my brother and I will recuse ourselves from the remainder of the proceedings. My Lords."

He nodded, waited a second as Damon rose with him, and they walked over to the empty seats at the side of the room as Kevan and Tyrion spoke in hushed voices. As a courtesy, the other members did so as well, so as not to eavesdrop on their proceedings.

In perhaps two minutes, Kevan nodded, waited a few seconds and nodded again, before rising.

"My Lords, Ladies and Goodmen. Seeing as Lord Eddard recused himself, we took it upon ourselves to unilaterally decide it was within our bounds assume he found the facts satisfactory."

There was a slight chuckle through some parts of the room.

"That being said, we came to a satisfactory decision. Seeing as two members of House Lannister sit upon the dais already, it seems more than fair that the other Lords of the West be given a say in who replaces the young Lord and Ser. I am sorry to say however that there will be no time to campaign, as my great nephews are leaving tonight after conclusion of this session. Maester Jon, do you have a list of Councillors present?"

The Maester roused himself. "I do, my Lord." He rose and went into a room off into a side hallway to emerge a few seconds later holding a small stack of papers.

"Very good," Kevan motioned for a young knight sitting near Jon to take the papers from the old Maester and bring them to him.

"Lord Tyrion and I have decided that I shall be granted Lord Eddard's seat, he shall retain his current position, he who receives the most votes will be granted Ser Damon's and the second-most, my current. The candidates eligible for election are as follows, in no particular order: Lord Lorent Lefford, Lord Lyndon Farman, Lord Harys Crakehall, Lord Jaime Marbrand, Ser Victor Vikary, Goodman Jon of Lannisport and Goodman Harman of Kayce. If there are any objections to these candidates, please state them now, or hold them forever."

He waited a few seconds.

"None? Very well. Maester Jon, do you need assistance in keeping tally?"

"No, my Lord, I think not."

"Very good then, let's begin."

—

It took less time than he'd thought it would. And the results were... surprising. To say the least.

Of the two hundred and thirty-seven Councillors present

For Lord Lorent Lefford: 45

For Lord Lyndon Farman: 24

For Lord Harys Crakehall: 11

For Lord Jaime Marbrand: 8

For Ser Victor Vikary: 89

For Goodman Jon of Lannisport: 48

For Goodman Harman of Kayce: 12

The Goodmen, the representatives of the smallfolk, or at least the cityfolk, seemed mostly united behind Goodman Jon. He was a smith by trade who'd hung up his hammer during the Great War marched North with Father to fight. Goodman Harman had a similar story, though he had been a shepherd and not as well known.

That shouldn't have been an issue. The Lords would normally have had enough votes to outweigh them either way. But... He had expected Ser Victor to win, he was the embodiment of a war hero, having served in all of the West's wars since the Ninepenny Kings, much like Kevan, and a good, honorable man to boot. The problem was that so many of the Lords had voted for Vikary, they hadn't been gotten themselves behind another candidate as well, and split their votes among the other four Lords. It was still a close run affair, but that didn't mean that the Lords were happy, least of all Lord Lefford. When Kevan announced the results, many of the Lords demanded a revote but Kevan refused, which was the just thing to do, even if it infuriated them.

They wouldn't like it, they would hate it. And when Ned and Damon left tonight, the West would be left in the hands of two ancient men, a dwarf, and a peasant.


	4. JaimeII

_(Author's note: bet you didn't expect this did you? Well, with all that's going on I was reminded of this story out of the blue one day and decided to take another crack at it. Here ya go!)_

Jaime Lannister was not having a good day.

He'd been woken up not two hours after falling asleep, forced to cut through an ambush of dozens of mercenaries hired by the Myrish, barely escaping with just five of his original fifteen companions. He'd had to run for hours before he was finally convinced he'd lost them. He'd been trapped in the heat of the sun for far too long,and been forced to abandon what supplies they had left. At least now there were fewer to feed.

Oh, and there were the tigers.

Two of them had been stalking their party since they escaped the mercenaries. Jaime was quite certain they were about to make their move. He just needed a few more moments.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Martin, filled with pride, presented his finished product to Jaime.

It was a crudely made 'net' made from the pliable but oddly strong strips of wood that lay scattered along the old Valyrian road.

He took the net, and, silently praying it would work, turned his back on the tigers.

He waited just a moment, sensing the danger behind him, before using all of his speed and strength to throw himself out of the way and snap the net around the thing.

It didn't have to hold long, he just needed the distraction to last long enough to deal with the other tiger.

As the first one thrashed around, cutting through the wood fairly slowly but surely, Jaime and his men surrounded the other, closing in with spears.

The beast pounced at one of his men, getting past the spear and on top of him. Jaime thrust his spear into its side as one of his men did the same from the other side.

In just a moment, the beast was dead and pushed off his man. The man, Damon, he thought, was certainly bleeding profusely and Jaime directed one of his men, a dropout from the Citadel, to do what he could for him.

"Uh... Ser Jaime?"

"Willem?" he said as he turned towards his young cousin's voice.

Willem was looking at the tattered remains of the makeshift net, with no tiger to be seen.

"Oh." said Jaime as the tiger took that moment to pounce on him from the shadows.

Jaime didn't quite escape its claws, taking a harsh raking across his back from them, but avoided death narrowly. He turned to face the beast as his men attempted to get behind it.

The tiger pounced again... at Willem.

Jaime let out a cry but though Willem tumbled to the ground, a massive tiger taking him down, the tiger had suddenly seemed to grow a spear from its side.

Martyn had thrown it at the beast in a desperate attempt to save his brother. It had worked, apparently piercing something vital.

The tiger let out a final breath.

Jaime pushed it off Willem and tried to evaluate his condition, but couldn't quite tell if anything had happened.

"I'm fine." Willem said as he tried to get up.

"Thanks to your brother. Martyn, you're lucky that worked. What on earth were you thinking? Never throw your weapon in battle."

"I... it worked though."

Jaime sighed and sat down.

"Damon, you alright?"

"He will be sir. A few nasty scars but it could have been far worse.

"Alright. Let's make camp for the night. Tomorrow we'll try to make for Volantis."

—

Martyn brought Jaime his dinner as the night grew darker.

"Jaime, why exactly did the Archon kick us out?"

Jaime looked at Martyn with a grimace.

"I ah... accidentally ah.." he mumbled the rest.

"Ser?"

"I killed his pet snake."

"His... pet snake?"

"It slithered under my foot during dinner and I, naturally stomped on it."

"Pet... snake."

"Yes, his pet snake."

"Well... alright then."


End file.
